


For Love and Prime

by gatekat, Verilidaine



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Pre-Earth, Reprogramming, S&M, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 14:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verilidaine/pseuds/Verilidaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G1 Mirage/Prowl<br/>Sometimes Prowl needs to be reminded of his place in the greater scheme of things.  For a mech who exists more in his processor than his frame, words carry more power than pain.<br/>Written for For <a href="http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=12370176?12370176">http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=12370176?12370176</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comfort in Submission

There was a time when the sight of his lover kneeling, aft on pedes, wrists bound behind his back and helm bowed when he stepped into his quarters would have sent his spark racing and hand reaching for a whip. That time was long past. Physical punishment had long ago lost its effectiveness, and on the front line of a war it was too dangerous to indulge in anyway. 

Now it meant that Mirage had to load a special program into his active processors to handle his lover's needs. It was almost always running, producing phrases and collecting terms in every language Mirage encountered for just such evenings. He never had to worry about his lover knowing what they meant; he knew more languages than Mirage did, since Jazz and dozens of other agents and explorers all gave him their linguistic files as well.

"You failed today," Mirage spoke as he walked past the black and white Praxian kneeling without a twitch on the floor in the center of the room. There was no response. It hadn't been a question, merely the opening statement of the evening while Mirage poured himself a flute of high grade. It was only one of Sideswipe's brews, a pale replacement for the quality Mirage had once known. It was the motion, the setting of the scene that was far more important than the brand, or lack thereof.

Every motion, every sound either of them made this evening was with the singular goal of breaking Prowl down mentally and emotionally, to punish him for imagined failures so he could find his center again and go back to his office to prepare for the next battle. They had both long ago realized that this was a war that would not end while any of them still functioned.

The verbal humiliation was not a game that Mirage had liked at first. He had to teach himself to enjoy this, to do it well and give his lover what he needed.

Prowl did the same for him, a few times to the same extreme. Mirage knew all too well how uncomfortable Prowl had been when he'd first asked for sweet words and a long, tender hardline interface right there in Prowl's office chair. It was only fair he return the effort.

"How many deactivated because of you?" Mirage asked, his tone cold as he turned to glare at the mech he loved, if he believed that love existed.

"One hundred and sixty-nine," Prowl's voice trembled, the sound the first outward marker of just how badly rattled he was.

Mirage concealed his surprise. He knew that there had only been five Autobot casualties and was fairly sure there hadn't been more than four Decepticons dead. That meant ... a lot of civilians.

A _lot_ of civilians.

That would explain the mech currently begging, silently, to be _hurt_.

"So many," Mirage murmured out loud, taking slow, measured steps back to the center of the room, holding the flute. He stopped when he was behind and slightly to the side of Prowl, taking a small sip. "What makes you think you even deserve this? Why shouldn't I leave you to rust in your own well-deserved guilt?"

Prowl's doorwings trembled faintly at the threat but he gave no other movement. "Because the Prime needs me," he whispered plaintively, his tone and field thick with how badly he wanted it to no longer be true, to be released from the endless torture of planning how best to slaughter mecha with other mecha.

Mirage hummed in agreement and took a step forward, kneeling just out of range of Prowl's optics, but close enough to brush one hand lightly down the smooth plane of a single wing. "Exactly," he said. "The Prime needs you. The Autobots need you. Unfortunately for us, you're the best we have."

A soft, nearly inaudible sound, a hiccup of Prowl's vents, was the only answer an outsider would hear. Yet Mirage was close enough to teek the truth. His lover was desperate for that not to be true. Desperate to be numb enough to once more no longer care that it was. As self-destructive as this cycle would eventually, and already had, become, it was the only short term answer when short term was all they could afford.

Mirage let his fingers trail back up to the top edge of the wing and ghosted along until it was touching the tip, then made a quick shift sideways, dug his claws in, and yanked, pulling Prowl back and towards him. He shoved the other hand forward, pushing the flute of high grade to Prowl's lips and tilting. "Drink," he commanded. He'd learned, over time, that the loosening effects helped considerably. As ethically questionable as it was to force high grade on a bound, already unstable lover, they had gone far past the boundaries of ethical long ago. "Maybe it will actually improve the functioning of that glitched mess you call a processor."

Prowl drank, accepting the order and only losing a few drops down the side of his mouth in the choking struggle he put up. As reflexive and genuine as the distress and resistance looked, it wasn't. It was all part of a well-scripted improvisational scene they were playing for Prowl's benefit. 

He would repay Mirage for his kindness later. For now, Prowl simply needed, and he took.

"There we are," Mirage murmured as Prowl struggled. "Drink, and be glad you're still worthy enough to waste energon on. " _Barely_ worthy," he added as he lowered the flute, then leaned in to lick up the drops that had run down Prowl's jaw and neck, ending at the Praxian's lips with a sharp, quick bite before he drew away and stood smoothly. He pushed Prowl forward again with the hand still on his wing, holding him there. "Think of all those starving mecha you lost in the streets who would have killed for that. I wonder if any of them are still alive, if any of them think of you." He let go of the wing after a quick shove, forcing Prowl down even further, and stalked around him.

The well-crafted Praxian Enforcer frame, upgraded inside and out for war, shook for a nanoklik before he stilled with his forehelm nearly touching the floor. His field roiled with pain, grief, loss, failure, hatred, anger, fear ... every emotion that the majority thought he didn't possess because of the tight self-control learned and perfected on the streets he once patrolled. Enforcer duty was no place to display one's thoughts in field or frame.

Mirage slowed slightly as the emotions hit his own field. It had been hard, learning how to ignore those feelings. In the beginning of all this, they'd made him want to stop the entire scene and wash Prowl with comfort and reassurance and everything Mirage would want in his lover's place. Gentleness, where Prowl needed harshness. Support, where Prowl needed punishment. Eventually, he'd fully grasped the respect and trust Prowl had for him in coming to him with this need and learned to fulfill it.

Now those emotions had little effect on Mirage. He would never _enjoy_ them, but he could use them. "Feeling bad won't do anything to help those lost sparks," he commented with careless haughtiness, a combination of noble speaking to a slave and Enforcer commander with an officer that had erred greatly.

Prowl took it as both subordinates would: still, silent and ashamed. His field said what his vocalizer and frame did not. He grieved for every spark lost, Autobot, Decepticon and Neutral. He even grieved for the unsparked AIs and organics that perished in this too-long, too-brutal war. He grieved for lost potential, lost treasures, lost history ... everything that could never be reclaimed cut at him, hurt him, and he could show none of it. He was not punished for such failures as he once would have been as an Enforcer. Instead he was praised for his tactics because the Prime and officers saw what was saved, not what was lost. They didn't understand what could drive Prowl to do better and what tore at him.

Not even Jazz or the Prime, two mecha that really should have seen it, seemed to have any grasp at how much they were hurting their tactician with their kind words and supportive attention. Thus it fell to Mirage and too much of the limited time they had together. It was another sacrifice for the cause, to keep Prowl functional enough to continue his duties, and it made Mirage despise the war all the more. He would never stop subtly encouraging Prowl to leave the Autobots, or the occasional flat out offer, even though he knew in his spark that his lover was completely incapable of leaving his duty. Following orders was what he'd been sparked to do, trained to do. He'd never been intended to rise above a squad commander, and his core programming to ensure he was content with no more than that was crippling him. It had been stripped, but Mirage knew from his own existence that it never completely went away.

The alternative to doing this was as simple as it was unacceptable. Prowl would break down, his personality protocols degrading until something broke irreparably. While he did not know if he'd take his own spark, become combat suicidal or simply go functionally insane, the Autobots would loose their best tactician and perhaps the only hope of salvaging anything from this war. Thus it fell to Mirage to mete out the punishment Prowl required, by design and training, to continue functioning.

"In fact," Mirage continued, as he came around Prowl's front, looking down at the bowed Praxian, "Feeling bad won't even help the sparks that are still shining. You're a failure, you know, wasting time on something as worthless as yourself."

Prowl cringed, his field flaring in pain and denial of a sort. He was a failure, but the Prime ordered he have energon....

"What are you, anyway, a pre-programmed Enforcer? In other words, common stock? Barely better than a drone?" Mirage knelt, grabbed Prowl's shoulder as a choked sound escaped the bound mech and shoved him up and back.

"No," he spat, forcing pale blue optics to meet his fierce golden ones. "Not even better than a drone. Drones don't have your kind of kill count. Drones are at least too stupid to think they could make a difference, and don't even try. You're much, much worse." He pushed away with a disgusted _tch_ while Prowl trembled, automatic denials kicking in, officer protocols, trying to protect the Autobot SIC from abuse his rank should not suffer.

Yet Prowl had suffered it as long as he'd held more than entry level rank. In the simple act of surviving his city's end he betrayed everything he was meant to be. In accepting that his precinct, his _city_ , could no longer be helped, Prowl had committed the greatest act of treason his programming knew. All anyone else saw was a survivor, a mech who fought past the odds and succeeded. They didn't comprehend just how critically flawed Prowl had to be to become an Autobot, much less to have himself upgraded and become an officer, then a high ranking one.

Prowl never contested the charges whispered against him because he knew in his spark that the truth was so much worse. No one here would tell him that though. No one would punish him for what he did in surviving his city. No one cared that he was slowly going insane for lack of beatings and being dressed down for the crime of abandoning his post and worse. 

"No drone has your kind of kill count," Mirage was saying. "And I'm told you're the best we have?" The noble shook his head, chuckling for a moment. "Don't make me laugh. You're not the best we have. You're the thing they dragged up when all the _proper_ tacticians had been killed."

A shudder ran down Prowl's frame, causing his armor to quiver and click. Yet somewhere there was also a tiny little flicker of peace inside him to have the truth thrown at him. He did not, could not, contest the accusation. It was true. He was an Enforcer who outlived his city. He was salvaged hardware and software set to run an experimental battle computer. He'd volunteered because in his deranged state he thought it would wipe him clean, strip everything that was _Prowl_ from the processors he had.

He could not have been more horrified when he booted up to realize how wrong he'd been. And now he was far too valuable to become a grunt and end himself quickly.

Mirage saw the shudder, focused in on it. Still kneeling, he leaned in, letting his mouth slide into a cruel smile. "Oh, oh oh," he whispered. "Is that it? Is that your deep, dark secret? You _know_ , don't you, how worthless you were meant to be. You know exactly what your lot in life should have been, and yet you're still here, playing this masquerade. Losing."

A tiny sound, something akin to a relieved sob escaped Prowl before he muted it. His frame quivered a little harder and his mouth opened, just a bit. Officer protocols surged to dominance, only to be checked before they got anywhere. He wanted to push, to grab and hurt and thrust into and punish this creature before him for saying such things about him. But he couldn't find the words. He knew, to the very core of himself, that those reactions were a mark of serious deterioration of his social software. As an Enforcer, his first duty upon realizing such a response had happened would be to report to his Captain and request a reformat. 

Prowl so desperately wanted to. But this was not Praxus and he was not a lowly patrol officer. The Prime did not understand what a reformat really meant for common mecha, working mecha. He'd been taught it was a horrible thing, a punishment second only to imprisonment in a personality matrix without a frame. Yet to Prowl's kind it was a welcomed thing. A way to continue performing his duties and being a productive member of society when his software could no longer be repaired. 

That did make him keen, ever so softly. Not from his vocalizer, but from his frame itself.

Mirage shifted to the side, pressed his mouth right over the audio receptor. "Who needs Decepticons when you're making all the right mistakes to get us killed off? We pay too high a price for every avoidable misjudgment you make. You should have ended as a pile of scrap with the rest of your race. Do you count their sparks, too? Are you so self-important that you blame yourself for your city? Do you realize you should have stayed? Maybe one more could have been evacuated, one more proper mech saved and put to some _real_ use." Mirage stood back up and grabbed the tip of Prowl's chevron, yanking, snapping the head and neck back so he could look down at his lover. "I think Prime only keeps you because you're portable. We'd be just as well off with a computer doing your work." He curled his wrist, trying to twist the metal in his hand, just enough to hurt as much as he could without it snapping.

Prowl screamed.

Denial, pain, regret. Frame and vocalizer and processor and spark in a unified voice.

It was not enough, but it was a very good start. If he had to, Prowl could function now for the next shift. He wanted so much more though, and they had time for it. He would be an incoherent lump of mech on the floor when this was over, and then Mirage would sink into him, take him and force him to enjoy the use of his frame. It was a state he both dreaded and dreamed of. For just a few moments there was pleasure and he was once more only a minor thing. Unimportant except that he had a useful purpose.

As soon as he had the scream, Mirage let go. "Not that easy," he said with a sneer in his voice. "It's not going to be that easy to pay. And you know what it's going to take."

Another step and he was standing behind Prowl. Hands moved carefully, brushing over wing edges, stroking outward until they reached the tips. They quivered under his fingers, anticipating pain or pleasure and not actually sure what was coming.

"One orn," Mirage said, letting his voice wax casual, like Prowl wasn't bound on his knees and trembling before him, "I won't be able to do this. You keep building up the losses like this, and I'm just not going to be able to keep up. Over one hundred sparks in a single day?" Mirage grinned, tweaked the tips sharply. Prowl gasped at the mixed sensation and felt his interface equipment cycle on against his will. His spike tip pressed against the cover, which he was managing to keep closed for the moment.

It was another signal of how badly damaged he was. There was no way this should be so intensely arousing.

"One error, for one hundred sparks. Keep that up and you'll be rivaling Megatron," Mirage whispered as let go of the wings and knelt, pressing his front against Prowl's back, not at all careful about the way it pushed Prowl's arms in and made the shoulder joints creak. 

Prowl shuddered again, his field flaring sharply as it escaped his control. Intense, full of arousal, need, self-hate, pain, want ... full of the wild contradiction that was Prowl's emotions and stability. "I ... not that insane," he finally objected weakly.

"Oh, lover," Mirage purred, wrapping his arms around Prowl. "My deluded, selfish, drone of a lover, is that what you tell yourself? Look around, look how far you've gotten, look at what a mess you're in, and it's all your fault. Of course you're insane. No one asked you to be here. No one asked you to help. Should have stayed where you were, we'd be so much better off without you."

Prowl whimpered and shivered at the suggested he should have done what he had always known he _should_ have done, but couldn't make himself at the time. He still couldn't lay down and fade away, or even step into battle intending to end his tortured existence. But oh, he wanted to so badly. So very badly.

Mirage dropped his voice to a low, sultry whisper. "Don't know why the Prime keeps you around. He should have had you deactivated as the miswired glitch you are vorns ago."

"Hates me. He's ... Evil," Prowl gave voice to the treason he could so rarely admit to. It was a warning in and of itself of how badly he needed to be reprimanded, how close he was to snapping completely.

Mirage pressed his lips to the neck, deceptively gentle. His fields were carefully clear of any reaction to the words or the painful knowledge that Prowl believed them to his very spark. "Don't know why I keep you around either, for that matter," he murmured. "I deserve so much better than a pre-programmed pretending to be more than he is. What makes you think you're good enough for me?" He bit, harsh and deep, into Prowl's neck.

The frame under him jerked sharply, but Prowl made no sound.

Then a snarl rumbled up from the Praxian. "Because you need _some_ way to remind yourself of what you were. Taking orders from a commoner, a former dancer and thief. Jazz was even less than I, and you must bow to his every whim."

Mirage snarled back, tensing his hands and digging his claws inward on the chest. They did no damage to the battle armor, but when he pulled, he knew exactly where to find the seams and he _used_ them, sinking in relentlessly. He jumped up and back and pulled Prowl with him, spinning with the grace of a mech who was raised a noble and then trained to kill. 

Prowl slammed back into the floor and Mirage was on him in an instant, hand to his neck, squeezing. "Shut your mouth," he hissed. "It was my _right_ , my _place_ to give orders to mechs who were ten times what you are!" His grip tightened and as he leaned forward, putting more weight behind it, he rested his other on the wing, pinned flat against the floor. "At least Jazz knows who he is, doesn't come back crying to his lover like a sparkling. At least Jazz chose who he became, made something of himself. You're nothing more than a bad experiment, the result of the worthless spark of a failed mech powering that glitched block in your head. You thought you could just fade away, make something of your worthless frame." He sank his claws into the wing and pulled down. "Did you ever know your place? Or were you sparked this arrogant?"

Prowl hissed, struggling under his lover's lighter weight, but Mirage knew what he was doing and with his hands bound behind them, there was little Prowl could do but squirm.

Suddenly it was all gone. The defiance, the anger, everything.

"I knew, once," Prowl's voice crackled with static, his field full of longing to go back, to be what he'd been intended; a minor cog in the great machine that was Cybertron. "Once," he whispered, all but lost to his frame, his optics on but no longer seeing. 

"Please." A single glyph with a world of implications wrapped up in it.

Please hurt me.  
Please make me forget.  
Please end the glitch.  
Please, oh _please_ end me.

"Oh, so now it's 'please,' is it?" Mirage mocked. He leaned in, never letting up on his grip around Prowl's neck. "The drone in you would do well to remember that word, you worthless pile of Pit refuse. You're going to scream it for me, I promise you that." 

Prowl looked at him with a mixture of hope, fear and thanks that jumbled into a cacophony of _strong_ against Mirage's field.

The hand from the wing pulled back and traced down the body, causing Prowl to twitch with a low moan of pleasure at the touch. 

"Where do you get off speaking like that to your betters? _Where_ do you get off speaking like that to _me?_ " Mirage hissed as he found the plating he was looking for in the waist, made of a lighter, more flexible metal in order to bend at that joint, and sank his claws in, just barely. Prowl whimpered softly, but his frame was heating in desire fueled by pain and the touch of a long-trusted lover.

"Tell me, do you think those innocents ever felt this pain? Or do you think theirs was _worse?_ " With his last enunciation, Mirage flexed his fingers, locked the joints, and put all his power into a single pull. Even against the weaker plating, it took almost all his strength, but as he ripped back, he pulled the entire section away in his hand. Under him Prowl convulsed and howled in agony.

The pain was shared across Prowl's field, but with it came the rush of arousal Prowl couldn't understand but marked as deviant. His interface cover slid open, allowing his spike to spring free. The combination of sensations drew a moan from Prowl, his optics flickering. Rage flared up again, the _want_ to fight and hurt and kill, and the panic at the reaction.

Prowl _knew_ better.

"Please...." Prowl whimpered, shaking and terrified of himself. When would that happen when he wasn't safely bound?

Mirage sank into the now-exposed wiring, digging and pulling at the internal systems at his fingertips without even looking to see what he was doing. "You're a sick, twisted excuse of a being," he spat. "What kind of mech--" One finger found a wire, tugged at it, looped it around, and twisted while he spoke. "What kind of miswired, virus-riddled, drone-sparked mech gets off on _this?_ " He pulled, snapping the wire in two places at once, and before Prowl even had a chance to react to the pain, grabbed an entire handful and _pulled_.

Prowl screamed and thrashed, almost knocking Mirage from his perch. His frame heated more and he keened at the contradictory demands. Fight and interface. Pain and pleasure. It was all jumbling into one horrible mass inside him, and it felt _good_.

Knowing that when it was over he really would feel better helped too.

Pain bright optics looked up at Mirage and Prowl's mouth moved to answer, but no sounds came out. The way he threw his helm back, baring his throat to the violence was tell enough though.

"Can't even talk," Mirage mocked. "Is it really so easy, to cull your voice? Is it because you know that nothing you say is worth the energy it takes to hear your words?" He leaned in, ran his glossa right over the spot in Prowl's neck where his vocalizer was nestled, and bit down, _hard._

The screech that erupted was more the vocalizer's automatic objection to being compressed, even that little, but Prowl's engine moaned and armor began to shift slightly, opening up gaps.

"Mismatched abomination," Mirage said as he pulled away, energon on his lips. "Little drone playing officer." He shifted off Prowl to the side, drew his hand out of the wound in Prowl's side and let it trail down to the spike. He held a single finger close enough to the spike for Prowl to feel the energy rippling around his frame, but didn't touch. "Does it turn you on, to think about spiking a noble?" he whispered. "To think about sinking into one who was made for so much more than you?"

"Kill you," Prowl snarled, letting the last visages of his self-control go to the pain and want racing through him. He didn't even feel sick at it anymore as he struggled against his bindings. "Tear you apart." His optics flared, bright and hot and insane. "Use you till you're gray under me."

"So you can add one more kill to your list?" Mirage growled back at him. "I'd like to see you try, I'd like to see you force that mistake of a processor into actually hurting me. You're too weak to destroy someone outright like that; you do it by sending them to their deaths where others can do your dirty work. So you can lie to yourself about who killed them. But you know, and I know."

Prowl sucked in a sharp vent of air, trembling at the truth of it. Rage surged up, only to be broken by arousal and pain as sharp claws sliced into the sensor-rich and very, very thin metal plates of his extended spike.

A scream torn from him and his hips drove into the contact, wanting more.

"Kill you!" Prowl howled, meaning it in that moment of delirium. 

"Do it, then!" Mirage yelled back at him, twisting his hand, pulling through metal, at the same time arming his other hand behind his back, because he could feel the truth to the words in Prowl's crazed, delirious field. He could feel it in the way Prowl genuinely fought to free himself. He could even hear it in the screams that might have been meant as words but came out garbled screeches. "Do it if you'd rather have one more spark on your list than absolution! Do it if you'd rather disappoint the Prime and lose the Autobots their best tactician! Do if you're so selfish!" 

All while he spoke, he stroked and cut at the spike as Prowl thrust his hips into the contact. Grounding Prowl to the only thing that was going to keep him under control now, the only escape route out of this entire scene for them both. If Prowl broke loose, one of them was not going to leave the room with their spark intact.

"Or maybe," Mirage said, quieter but no more gentle, rubbing faster now, working his claws into grooves he'd cut into the spike and moving up and down in those, cutting into the same lines, forcing his claws deeper and deeper, "You can act the obedient drone you ought to have been and _keep_. _Still_. Show some restraint for once in your long life of self-indulgence." 

Rage poured through Prowl's field with pain hot on its trail. Need and hunger, guilt and hope, and more than any of them, the purity of Prowl's complete loss of his moral coding.

Mirage drove a claw deep into the opening for transfluid at the tip and Prowl bucked into his hand, forcing it deeper even as the hot fluid rushed against Mirage's claw. Energy roared across and through Prowl's frame, whiting out his optics and shorting what little was left of his self-awareness.

Mirage acted quickly as soon as he felt Prowl's self flicker out of his field, fading back behind the haze of the pain-induced overload. One more step to take to break his lover completely in order for him to rebuild and reset. He moved over Prowl, shoved his legs apart with a knee, and sank in between them, lining their hips up. With a thought, he triggered his spike to unlock and slid out, and in a single motion, buried himself into the Praxian's valve. 

It made Mirage shudder, like it always did, to be buried inside Prowl--a mech who almost always hated for his valve to be filled--feeling the constricting heat of the walls. He paused, like he did every time, taking advantage of Prowl's momentary daze to imagine that they were somewhere else, they were together on a quiet night, coupling with a gentle tenderness that very few of their kind even remembered anymore. 

The fantasy could only last a moment, before Mirage was forced to refocus, reel himself in, and _thrust_ as hard as he could, keeping his movements short and rough. He had learned how to enjoy this a long time ago. Physically it wasn't difficult. Friction was friction and pressure sensors didn't care how slick the containment was. Physically, it was intense. Emotionally, it had stopped hurting when he realized how badly his lover needed it this way.

Prowl groaned, shuddering in the discomfort of his position as he cycled up from the soft reboot. His processors felt ravaged, not that different from the times Soundwave had interrogated him. His frame was protesting loudly about the way his arms were locked behind his back and under him, the pressure on his doorwings, the way the posture forced his backstrut to arch in a most unnatural angle. Last but most intense on the list was the state of his spike -- torn and oozing thick energon -- and the fullness of his valve that was only just slick enough to avoid the lining being torn.

A savage snarl was the first thing out of his vocalizer. Next was twisting, trying to free his arms and get a pede up far enough to kick Mirage off. He wanted to _hurt_ the elegant mech. Only this time his processors were clear enough, his emotional protocols deadened enough, to realized that it wasn't the emotional response he'd long thought it was. That pain washed through his field, mixed with horror and terror, before he sobbed and through his helm back. His valve tightened and cycled around the intruder automatically.

No matter what his state of processor, Prowl's frame knew what was going on and responded to the pleasure of the interface eagerly.

Mirage couldn't keep himself from moaning as Prowl's body rebooted and responded hungrily, even as Prowl snarled and tried to lash. "I know you like it," he said, propping himself up on his arms so he could look down into Prowl's optics even while he pushed his hips forward, hitting deep and savoring the sensation he'd been created to enjoy more than his valve.

"Don't bother trying to hide it from me, I'm in your _valve_ , mech," Mirage sneered down at him, rolling his hips and moaning at the way the flexible lining stretched and tightened around him. It felt _exquisite_.

Prowl could only snarl. His frame betrayed him, wanting this, but so did much of the rest of him too. It was pleasure, and he _wanted_.

"I can feel just how tight it is, just how much it wants a spike to use it, fill it, spill so deep..." His back arched as he thrust, pleasure shuddering through his frame. "I bet it gives you some kind of purpose, being spiked like this, enjoying it," Mirage paused his triad when Prowl moaned deeply and began to rock his hips into the thrusts.

"Does it make you hot, being used like this?" Mirage picked up again with a grunting moan. "It should, you know. You're lower than a drone, you're just a frame to be used by your betters, by _me_." A knowing look as Prowl shuddered and squeezed his valve tightly. "Unless you truly do hate it, in which case--nn--how do you live with yourself, how do you explain the way your valve squeezes me?"

"Mirage," Prowl gasped, his face to the side with shame he didn't know the origins of and no longer cared to.

Mirage was getting close. He released a strained, staticky laugh. "Frag, you're tight ... I think you really must love it, I think you'd spread your legs and open this sweet valve for any noble, any time, any way ... I could do _anything_ to you right now and you'd take it. You're such a nothing that even being spiked by a noble must make you feel so special..." 

Mirage shook, fighting to hang on, just a little longer. "That's your game, pretending to be more than you are, and this is the ultimate masquerade. Pretending to be an equal with me, here, when all you really are is my--wanton-- _whore!_ " With a shout, Mirage seized and shook with his overload, falling forward, gripping Prowl's shoulders as he pumped into him, spilling deep inside. 

"Please ... master!" Prowl screamed with the rush of sensation, right on the edge of oblivion and desperate beyond any sense for it. His hips drove up, his calipers cycling frantically, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. He needed _more_.

He needed to be _completely_ broken today.

Mirage felt it in his field immediately and he pushed himself up, movements hampered and stilted by the charged daze running through his systems. He fought against it, struggling to come completely back to himself. He had a very limited amount of time to break Prowl the rest of the way down before his arousal faded and left him with nothing but fury and the very real threat he'd made to kill Mirage.

"So it's 'master' now," Mirage said, groaning as his hips rocked forward, automatically, as Prowl's valve continued to cycle and squeeze. That much pressure was painful on the oversensitized plating and Mirage overrode the command for his spike to retract, forcing himself to remain buried. He pulled his knees up and tucked them under, shifting into a kneel. He pulled Prowl with him into his lap, heedless of the way it scraped abused wings over the floor, and leaned forward, hands on chest plates, flexed and threatening. "Open," he growled. "Open and show me what you are." 

Dazed optics spiraled wide at the rare request, fear licking at Mirage from Prowl's field. A small sound, a whine of objection, and Prowl shook his helm sharply.

Mirage had a cable out even before the whine ended and with the ease of long familiarity clicked it into place, emphasizing the motion with a quick thrust of his hips. "You _will_ open," he said. "Whether by your power or mine, it is what _I_ desire, which means you _will_."

As he spoke, he drove against Prowl's rage-weakened firewalls. It hardly mattered that they were some of the strongest ever constructed, Mirage had been trained by the best and practiced against the best. Prowl's turmoil coiled around his intrusion, barely even trying to kick him out as he shattered the weakest firewalls with brutal efficiency. He only needed a spark-pulse longer to shred the mid-level ones that protected Prowl's motor controls.

All the while he looking right into his lover's optics and rolled his hips, making sure that Prowl felt him inside in every way. Searing pain danced across their fields as Prowl drove his fingers into his own plating, tearing at his frame in an effort to free himself.

He froze when the soft click of his chest plates unlocking whispered in the noisy room. Terror flared again, sharp and cold and numbing when his chest plates began to slide apart to offer his spark to his lover.

Mirage's optics brightened as the light shone out, illuminating his face. Another quick hack opened the crystal chamber. "There," he breathed, and his own spark pulsed in response to a sight that he both treasured and craved, even if it meant he had to hurt and abuse to get there. He kept the awe and reverence from his field as he put a lock on Prowl's chestplate and spark chamber controls to keep Prowl from triggering either to close and backed out of his lover's processor. That spark would be bared to him until he used his fingers to close the spiraled chamber opening and pushed the armor back in place to protect it.

Prowl trembled, every other movement halted from the hardcoded response to having his spark in open air. There was nothing a Cybertronian could make themselves do to endanger their exposed spark unless determinedly suicidal. It was a place Prowl was often close to, but was not yet at.

"Right there." Mirage's voice hardened as he slid a clawed fingertip along the glyphs in common, completely uncaring of the way it made Prowl jerk underneath him, though the chamber itself didn't move a micron.

_Praxus_   
_Patrol Enforcer_

"The mark of a pre-programmed. The mark of all you were designed to be. You'll never escape what you were meant to be," Mirage's tone was disdainful and he took in Prowl's terror. In a way, that terror was a very good thing. It meant that his lover was still willing to fight for his existence. That all this was doing what it needed to.

An identical click to the one that had come from Prowl's frame was the only warning before Mirage's plating parted away and his own spark shone. He watched Prowl's optics snap to the light as it refracted around his much finer chamber. He felt Prowl's rush of desire, pure and hot, not to hurt the spark he was staring at, but to join with it.

"Do you see mine? The mark of nobility, the mark of a mech who was meant for something." He grinned and tucked his chamber back away, while his fingers wandered from the outside to the interior of Prowl's much simpler chamber. He hummed deeply as he watched the way the spark energy danced and clung to his fingers and listened to Prowl's gasping keens of pleasure. "Spark-deep, you want this. You want to be a guttersmech whore. You want me to _break_ you, and--mm--" Mirage rocked his hips in a short, harsh thrust. "You're doing such a good job of showing it."

Prowl's vocalizations crackled with static as his helm fell back in submission. Another sob escaped him as he curled his fingers against his palm hard enough to dent. He could no longer form words, but his field spoke for him.

_Yes_

_Please_

_Make it end_

"Don't worry," Mirage crooned, and his spike was warming again, the last of the sensors resetting in order to transmit the pure pleasure that came from being buried like this. He rocked, slowing down, teasing and tantalizing the eager, slick valve while he turned his hand over, watching the light spill through his fingers and wrap around his palm. He closed his fingers in, one by one, making a loose fist, watching the energy leak out, like trying to hold onto liquid or stardust, and disappear into the pulsing spark around his hand. He followed with his fingers, pushing deep, deep into the light. 

Prowl's scream split the very air around them as his frame arched in the violent locking spasm of an overload too long denied. His spark flared around Mirage's first; bright, strong, undeniable. No matter what he said, Mirage loved that spark and the mech it supported.

With the energy not even half way dissipated Prowl slumped, his frame lax and optics black. Experience told Mirage that the scene was finally over.

He cycled his optics once, taking in Prowl's motionless frame, then very carefully pulled his hand away. Small tendrils of sparklight clung to his fingers as he withdrew, all of them crackling with the remnants of overload energy. Carefully, very carefully, Mirage eased his fingers over the cover of the spark chamber, pushing it until it spiraled shut. He leaned forward and pressed a single, tender kiss to the center of the spiral, lingering for a moment to enjoy the warmth and feel the beautiful resonance vibrating against his lips. 

He sat up and drew his spike away with the smallest shiver, taking another moment to center and calm his own processor and spark. Sometimes he overloaded, sometimes he didn't. It was inconsequential next to forcing Prowl into a shattering valve overload that would help him reset and face the next orn. 

Gently, but with an air of business-like efficiency, he closed the chest armor and eased back, crawling around to Prowl's side and rolling him to examine the binds Prowl had used on his wrists. Simple and magnetic, and he had set them to Mirage's control. A ghost of a smile, tinged with regret that it had to be this way, moved over Mirage's lips as he released Prowl's wrists and carefully, carefully eased him up so that Mirage could lift him and carry him to the berth. 

Cleaning, mending, and polishing were all routine and comforting tasks for Mirage and gave him time to think. He didn't know how much more of this Prowl could take, and as he tucked away the last of the rags, he ran his fingers over his lover's calm face. 

"You are strong, and beautiful," he whispered, and only because he knew Prowl would never hear his words. "No matter what else you are."

With a soft cycle of his vents, Mirage settled himself in and curled against Prowl, drifting into his own recharge. 

His last thought, from an impossibly small part of his processor that was never acknowledged except on nights like these, was a wistful hope that they would never have to wake.


	2. In Order to Serve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a program is too badly damaged to work, it's time to replace it. Sometimes, true loyalty means breaking a commander's orders in order to continue to serve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Earth, Sticky, Hurt/Comfort, Reprogramming

Mirage was fully aware when Prowl first began the slow, methodical boot cycle that always followed their sessions. It would take him nearly a breem to become fully aware, a very different sensation from the battle-protocols they normally operated under that would have the mech on his pedes and capable of defending himself within nanokliks if needed, a klik or less if there was no threat.

He could see how much of Prowl's processors had booted and integrated at any given moment by the subtle changes in those handsome faceplates. From the peace of deep recharge the first shift was just the tiny shifts in expression as the mechanics that controlled facial expressions powered up and began their test cycle. There was no real awareness behind it yet. Prowl had learned long ago to order his sequence so all the physical checks were performed before any of his self-awareness did. Even in something as natural as the checks, it distressed him not to be able to control it.

Features smoothed out, relaxed to neutral once more when the check was completed. Only it wasn't the neutral that the rest of the universe saw. This was a peaceful neutral, the neutral of being relaxed. That look remained until Prowl's optics lit, slowly and softly. He was in no hurry.

A tiny smile caressed Prowl's lips and he reached up to stroke Mirage's cheek. "Did you recharge well?"

Mirage leaned into the touch, purring contentedly at the smile and gesture that had subdued the last flickers of worry he'd still been feeling. "Yes," he lied smoothly, covering Prowl's hand with his own. "Did you?"

The Praxian stilled at that question, expected as it was. "It was ... insightful," he murmured, a flicker of unease ghosting through his field before desire washed over it. With that same gentle touch, the only touch Mirage ever felt from Prowl, the noble was drawn into a tender, lingering and chaste kiss. An expression of affection, of thanks, of care that Prowl could not give voice to.

His kind did not have that glyph. Even if taught it, he could not apply it to himself.

He knew affection though, and devotion, and thanks and care. All those were given to the slender mech in his arms and warm against his plating.

"This morning is yours," Prowl purred softly, an open invitation for Mirage to select anything that would please him as thanks for the previous night. 

Mirage pressed back into the kiss, moaning softly at the gift he knew Prowl was offering him. These were the moments he craved, when it was his turn to be selfish and take what he needed from the one he cared for so deeply. His fingers curled around Prowl's neck as he lay back, tugging the larger mech to follow, settling himself on his back beneath his lover. He pulled Prowl into another kiss, and then relaxed completely, looking up into Prowl's optics, vents shivering with anticipation. 

His lover followed smoothly, willingly compliant with the silent direction, and waited patiently.

Without a word, Mirage's chest split and the whisper of his spark chamber spiraling open filled the air. Light spilled out as the armor moved out of the way, accenting the angles of Prowl's face, casting upwards shadows that made him exotically beautiful. It was a sight Mirage loved.

Prowl's vents almost stalled on him, his optics spiraled wide. Surprised shock rippled across his field, but it dissipated quickly. Without question he unlocked his armor and brought his spark chamber forward. It spiraled open, allowing the corona to ghost across Mirage's as tendrils from each spark sought the other. Rare as this was, their sparks knew each other.

Mirage's entire frame arched up into the contact and he moaned softly, hands settling lightly on Prowl's arms. Restless, eager fingers ghosted along the armor as more wisps of light and energy spilled up, merging with their mirrors from Prowl's spark. Each one strengthened and brightened as soon as they joined and Mirage moaned again, louder, his fingers stilling suddenly while the rest of him trembled. 

"Thank you," Mirage gasped and cried out in rapture and relief as the soft pleasure merge deepened, strand by strand, until coronal mass mingled. Above him Prowl moaned, shivering at the intensity that was a spark merge, even at this casual level.

"Always," Prowl moaned and lowered his chest, sinking their sparks closer together and pressing his sense of self through the forming link, offering a deeper merge to his lover.

Mirage stared up at Prowl as soon as he felt it, shocked by the gift he was being given. He had no thought of refusing. Something this rare, something he craved with every fiber of his being, was to be accepted and treasured, and so, with shaking fingers reaching up to brush over Prowl's cheek, he opened himself completely and offered his own consciousness even as he pulled Prowl in.

Prowl's care for him, loyalty to him, fears for him, affection towards him all swirled around Mirage's awareness as the merge deepened slightly.

~Everything will be all right,~ Prowl's thought-feeling reassurance wrapped around Mirage in a blanket of comfort backed by the most advanced tactical system ever developed. ~We endure. We will always endure.~

~Prowl,~ Mirage answered, unable to do more than curl into his lover's presence, existing in that instant as relief and joy, because he knew--no matter what came later, no matter what had come before--that Prowl was giving him the truth. Distantly, he felt his body shake and heard his own blissful keen, but it was so little in comparison to _this_ , to being wrapped and held. Every fear he had offered up in that first moment of connection had been wiped away by the strong voice, leaving Mirage shimmering with joy in its wake.

~Mirage,~ Prowl whisper-sang in the dialect of the towers. It was a perfection that had taken vorns of work to learn, and many more to do so smoothly and effortlessly. 

Mirage sang his answer, ~Lover, light of my spark, bliss of my life,~ trilling back his gratitude that Prowl had done so much, all for him. His song continued wordlessly as he gave everything he was, harmonics revealing the incandescence that was his existence in that moment.

Their essences mingled and flowed, fears and reassurances and simple comfort offered and taken without shame.

~Mirage!~ Prowl's very spark keened in bliss as the overload swept through them in the same moment, their sparks and systems as interconnected as two beings could become.

~Prowl!~ Mirage answered in the same moment, surrendering to the running charge that swept through him, the ecstasy of being united so deeply.

The bliss whited out everything into a soft reboot, the kind that brought one up softly and sated, feeling as if nothing could be less than perfect. When Mirage's regained enough awareness to take note of the situation it was not what he'd expected. His lover was still sprawled on top of him, completely content, but their processors were peripheral to each other.

A surprised blip flicked through Mirage's CPU while Prowl waited patiently for him to assess and accept. It took him barely a nanoklik and then Mirage was looking into Prowl's optics. He nuzzled his lover's helm, sated and contented, and perfectly happy, in that moment, to never think about moving again. 

~Hello,~ he greeted, accompanying the greeting with a deep purr that made his chassis vibrate fondly. 

Prowl nuzzled him in reply, affection and calm certainty towards the future caressing Mirage's awareness as it willingly sank into Prowl's processors, only dimly aware that he was going deeper than usual. Eventually quiet calm and order gave way to the jagged, shattered code that Prowl had long been forced to function with.

~It is time,~ Prowl murmured, apologetic that he was doing this to his lover even though they both knew there would come a time when it had to be done. ~I know you do not wish to do the procedure,~ he stroked along Mirage's cheek with his thumb. ~I will still ask. Will you create and install a personality that does not need to be hurt to perform its function?~

Mirage's vents caught and stuttered for a moment as he turned his head, pressing desperately into Prowl's hand. ~You're sure?~ he asked, pointlessly, because of course Prowl was sure. Sure that it was time, sure that he wanted it, sure that Mirage was his choice. ~If I can't do it?~

~I will force Ratchet to, by threatening to go to Jazz if he doesn't,~ Prowl said gently, just as sure that the medic would do well.

Mirage huffed a laugh. ~Primus help us if Jazz did it,~ he said, trying not to think about what he already knew his answer was. ~No one would ever recharge again.~ He hesitated, face still pressed into Prowl's touch, and offlined his optics. 

He would never have to hurt Prowl again. He could have a lover who took the same joy in a gentle hardline interface as he did, instead of a lover who accepted them out of devotion and gratitude. He could have a lover who didn't want to destroy himself for this cause, a lover who would leave with him, abandon the Prime and this Primus-forsaken war, all so they could be together. 

Or Prowl could forget. Such a clean start would be a mercy for him, and a torment for Mirage. 

It was hard--no, it was impossible--for Mirage to imagine wanting to be reprogrammed. For him, it would be a horrifying punishment, something to be fought against with all his strength. But he had seen and felt for himself the pain Prowl lived in. He could help, _really_ help, not just keep the pain at temporary bay as he had these past vorns. In here and between their sparks he'd also felt, pure and calm, that reprogramming had never been something Prowl feared. That for Prowl, reprogramming because of glitching software was a mercy and welcome thing.

But he was still terrified, frightened to his core that he would do it wrong, change Prowl into something he never would have wanted to be, something designed to suit Mirage's desires. Wordlessly, he let that fear bleed out into his field.

~I trust you,~ Prowl's reply swirled around Mirage's awareness as he gently rested their forehelms together. ~I wish to be content once more. You know my spark. You know what to design so I can be content. It is all I desire. To be content with my existence once more.~

Mirage huddled against Prowl, quivering. As much as it could be easier to simply let Ratchet perform the procedure and create a no-nonsense, all-business Prowl who would efficiently perform his duties and be content with that existence while Mirage learned to live without his lover...he couldn't accept that. He couldn't lose what he had found. He would do whatever it took to help Prowl, no matter his own reservations. ~I will do it,~ he finally said, and his grip tightened as he spoke. ~If only because...I need you to remember my song to your spark.~

Warmth and affection, the desire to remember that and so much more about Mirage embraced the noble. ~Thank you,~ Prowl murmured between them, gentle, grateful and keenly aware of just how much he was asking of his lover.

~Always,~ Mirage whispered.

* * *

Sixteen vorns after Mirage had meticulously reformatted his lover, and the noble was still occasionally amazed that they'd gotten away with it. Recalling the reaction from Prowl when the mech rebooted after the work was still a bittersweet thing. They were still hardlined together, Mirage watching with terrified intensity as each system booted in order and came up clean. So much could go wrong with the amount of work he'd done. Despite the repercussions, Ratchet's comm was barely a thought away, primed to send an emergency signal and location to the CMO should anything go wrong.

Yet as system after system boot up in slow progression, nothing raised an alarm. He'd done no damage to the coding controlling physical function. A long x-vent of relief escaped Mirage, along with a faint tremble of relief. Now came the part where he knew he'd done major damage, for there was no other way to describe what he had forced upon the unconscious mech. It did not matter that Prowl had begged for it, helped plan it, design it and gave explicit instructions on what code had to go. Never once did Prowl hint at what code he might want to remain.

It terrified the second creation noble to his core to have that kind of power over his lover, his superior. For that was what Prowl had become: the noble first creation that Mirage was intended to, the dominant and ranking one in their relationship, the one that Mirage was supposed to mold himself to suit the every whim of. The fallacy and illogic of the statement to the world it was phrased for was irrelevant. It was the only way Mirage could make any of what they needed, what _he_ needed, work.

Program and protocols booted up and integrated, all without errors. Slowly, so painfully slowly, over more than a full breem, Prowl's consciousness came on line.

~Mirage,~ the relief at the recognition and that he still _felt_ towards the other, his lover, was the first thing that hit Mirage when Prowl had enough of himself on line for it.

Mirage responded with a fond flicker of greeting and reached out to link their fingers together, squeezing. He didn't want to react too much and possibly influence Prowl's consciousness as the new coding was explored and assimilated. He was still worried that he had kept too much. With every memory accessed, it was becoming ever more clear that his lover was very surprised, even shocked at how much of his former self remained.

Flickering in and outs were doubts that anything had been changed, and that bloomed into outright fear. For the first time Mirage watched the fundamental alteration to his lover when the massive and all-consuming tactical systems took over. _Prowl_ faded to the background. Dominant and consuming was a coldly logical number cruncher that swept through Prowl's memories and code with a brutal efficiency that Mirage had only had a hint of before.

Then the tactical systems turned on him, locking onto the peripheral systems and the mech they belonged to.

Mirage froze and forced himself not to pull away when he felt the intensity of that system focusing in and he stared into optics that were cold with the complete detachment that came from pure logic. 

As he looked, he doubted his work, wondered if he should have simply stripped the mech down to this system and not forced the illogic of what they shared onto him. It was what Ratchet would have done. It would have been the selfless, merciful choice. For the good of the Prime and their cause, and possibly even what would have been best for Prowl.

And he feared that the system that was currently scrutinizing him would come to the same conclusion.

Instead Prowl asserted himself and forced the tactical systems to back off, stand down. Mirage was _his_ and he wasn't going to allow a _tool_ to hurt him.

~Do not doubt yourself so much, my love,~ Prowl whispered across the connection as the tactical systems complied to his command without hesitation. ~It may not have been what I was expecting, but I think I like this.~

~Love,~ Mirage echoed, stunned for a moment, even though he had purposefully added the glyph and the ability to comprehend it to Prowl's systems. Knowing it was possible was one thing, hearing it in Prowl's own voice was something else entirely. ~ _Love_.~ He leaned in and touched their helms together. ~Dearest spark,~ he whispered. ~I hope...you can be content, now. I hope I did not fail you.~

Prowl lifted his arms to hold Mirage close and kissed him gently. ~What drove me to self-destruct is gone. That you left so much of _me_ ... thank you. Thank you for allowing me to continue serving the Prime, and do so with a clear conscience.~

~Always, anything,~ Mirage answered, not admitting how badly he had wanted to take away any inclination to serve the Prime. In the end, he hadn't been able to do it. It had been so important to the Prowl he'd fallen in love with, he couldn't bring himself to steal it from him. Even if it meant losing Prowl to war, even if it meant giving him the capacity to choose the army over him... he couldn't bring himself to all but force the mech to love him. He'd given him their memories, and the choice.

~I know, my love,~ Prowl whispered with a nuzzle. ~I knew my trust in you was well placed. As much as you hate the war, you do believe in our Prime.~ He slid his hands along Mirage's back. ~Now, what can I do to sooth the distress I caused you with this request.~

Mirage purred and arched up into the touch. ~Anything, everything,~ he answered, still dazed by how successful his work had been, still almost waiting for something to go wrong. He had taken a huge risk with this. ~Anything you'd like.~

With a soft smile Prowl kissed him again and began to part his chest plates-

The soft hum of systems booting to life had Mirage snapping his head up, pulled out of the memory in an instant, and looking to the medbay table he was sitting next to and the mech laying on it. 

Yes, they had gotten away with the reprogramming, and yes, most of the time he was deliriously happy. Prowl no longer fought the Enforcer code that demanded such harsh punishment for failure, no longer lived with the warring codes of an officer and an unranked soldier. It had freed his tac-net up to perform its duty unhindered by guilt or requirement, and Prowl had kept much of who he was. He had lost Praxus, and with it, most of his culture, but he was content with that. 

But the sheer strength of the unhindered tac-net caused problems of its own, and there were times when its logic subroutines couldn't make sense of something, couldn't rectify it with its ideas of what _should_ be, and those times... 

Mirage squeezed the white hand he was holding in both of his own. Those times ended here. ::Ratchet?:: he commed. ::He's booting up.::

::Good,:: the medic replied as be stalked over. Despite the outward appearance of extreme irritation, his field was smooth, calm and reassuring. It was the result of the medical coding, something that didn't always settle well with Ratchet's spark or core personality, but the patients needed it more often than not. Fields read more critical than faces or tones, for fields were much more difficult to lie through.

Prowl groaned before his optics lit and turned his helm to face Mirage as he squeezed the hands holding his lightly. "What was it this time?" he asked quietly. Self-protection protocols had sequestered the dangerous memory and deleted it with a marker of what and why it was done.

To the side, Ratchet gave an irritated snort and turned away. Mirage watched him for a moment before looking back to Prowl. "Ah...Sunstreaker lost a bet, it seems, and his 'punishment' was to kiss you."

Prowl cycled his optics as he processed that. A very long half klik later and he regarded his lover more seriously. "A kiss, even from Sunstreaker, should not have crashed me that hard."

Mirage sighed, tilted his head as he thought, and then scowled and huffed. "He pushed you into a wall and practically sucked your face off and then offered to 'face you senseless right there." His scowl deepened. "Specifically, he offered to bend you over a table." 

Prowl made a choking sound and his engine stalled. Optics spiraled wide and brightened noticeably. "He _what?_ "

Mirage winced. "You crashed pretty hard," he said. "Um. I think almost as soon as he said 'spike you'...it was really fast. I think he was almost as surprised as you when you just dropped."

"I ... am not surprised," Prowl finally managed to settle his systems. "Who was the bet with?"

"Sideswipe," Mirage said. "Idiot," he added disdainfully. 

Prowl huffed, then sighed as he relaxed, easing into the state he knew would sooth his aching processors and frame the quickest. He accepted the special energon blend Ratchet handed to him and drank without question. "Do you wish a hand in their punishment?"

Mirage grinned at him, optics glinting. "May I be...unconventional?"

"Those two require unconventional," Prowl huffed again, but there was a matching gleam in his optics. "So long as the punishment does not break any regulations itself, I have tremendous latitude in assigning what I see fit."

Mirage thought for a moment. "I don't believe invisibly stalking them to make a film montage of their most embarrassing moments would break any regulations." He paused. "Though it might be time-consuming."

Prowl laughed, a light, honest sound that was entirely too rare. "Unfortunately it does, my love," he smiled and brought Mirage's hand up to kiss. "Unless you restrict yourself to public areas. They are still entitled to a measure of privacy in the private quarters."

Mirage looked at him innocently. "Who said I would follow them into their quarters? Those two spend more than enough time in public areas thinking no one is watching them."

"And what do you plan to do with the montage when it is complete?" Prowl purred, enjoying collaborating with his lover.

"I might misplace it in a convenient place to be found," Mirage said, shrugging carelessly. He leaned in, echoing the purr. "The question is, is that enough?" 

"With an orn in the brig and a bit of cleaning detail, yes," Prowl decided. "It should leave them wondering why I am being so lenient and what plan I have to get even."

Mirage hummed and closed the distance between them, sealing their lips together. ::Ratchet says you should stay in berth for a little while. I told him I would make sure you stayed there and have everything you need. I think he probably intended for you to _rest_ but...he didn't specify.::

::Rest actually sounds very good,:: Prowl admitted, returning the kiss gently. ::Crashing that hard takes a lot out of me, even if I am physically fine now.::

::Then I will simply have to wait until you are rested before I think of creative ways to keep you in berth,:: Mirage said, no shortness of mischievous, seductive intent in his field.

Prowl drew him into another tender kiss. ::I look forward to it, my love.::

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: Transformers G1  
> Author: gatekat, vaevade on LJ  
> Pairings: Mirage/Prowl  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Codes: Pre-Earth, Sticky, Bondage, D/s, Hurt/Comfort, Dirty Talk  
> Summary: Sometimes Prowl needs to be reminded of his place in the greater scheme of things. For a mech who exists more in his processor than his frame, words carry more power than pain.  
> For <http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=12370176?12370176>  
> Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page <http://gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html> We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.  
> nanoklik = 1/8 second;  
> klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;  
> breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;  
> groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;  
> joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;  
> orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;  
> decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;  
> metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;  
> vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;  
> ::text:: comm chatter  
> ~text~ hardline/bond chatter


End file.
